


Outsiders and Other Eldritch Entities

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: The Master of Death, Eldritch Abomination [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimensional Travel, Eldritch Abomination, Gen, Master of Death, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6122017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A desperate Order of the Phoenix summons the Master of Death to destroy Voldemort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outsiders and Other Eldritch Entities

**Author's Note:**

> _I've been working on this on and off for months now, so it's a joy to have it finally finished. It's a strange coincidence that I've finished it at about the same time as I wrote From Down Miskatonic County Way (the secret agent remix) considering that they both deal with Lovecraftian themes. I'm not a huge fan of Lovecraft - he demonises the Other, which hurts my soul - but I do like some of the concepts he came up with, as you can tell._

It had been a long time since the Master of Death was truly human. Centuries had passed since Harry Potter had united the wand, cloak and stone that were the emblems of his station, and in doing so transcended mortal life. He was something more than human, these days, something old and powerful – which was why, as now, he was able to be summoned.

Harry went with the summoning gladly. Once upon a time, every summoning had meant being uprooted and torn from those he cared for, but as time had passed, he’d become more detached from humanity. He still liked them, cared about them, would do anything to protect them… but he no longer formed the intense emotional connections with them that he used to. It was a mercy, really: it had been hard enough the first time he’d been forced to watch as everyone he knew and loved aged and died around him, while he went on, eternal and ever-young.

Harry had been in his current world for too long; he’d solved the problems he’d been summoned to deal with, but had been unable to move on to another world until the next summoning. Entering a new reality required a specific invitation from someone dwelling within that world; without it, Harry was stuck where he was. Only once had he ever tried to move from world to world without a summoning to call him into one: he’d been trapped in the dark place between realities for aeons, and only a new summoning had prevented him from remaining there forever. Harry was more careful, these days. The people who lived within the worlds might take their presence in the world for granted, but Harry knew that his being there was a privilege.

The tug of the summoning grew, pulling Harry relentlessly forward into a new world. His booted feet hit a wooden floor, and Harry glanced down at it, peering at the arcane symbols which marred the polished surface. Then he glanced up, to see who had summoned him this time.

“Who summons the Master of Death?” Harry asked, his voice soft. He willed himself to be seen, overriding the invisibility magic of his cloak, and there were gasps. The hood of his silver cloak hid his face, so that all his summoners could see was a mysterious cloaked figure.

Searching their faces, Harry held back a gasp of his own. He’d been to many worlds, in his time, but never before had he arrived in an analogue of his own universe. Yet here were familiar faces, the doubles of people he’d once known, and Harry’s heart swelled with old emotion before he took a deep breath, calming his mind.

“Well?” Harry demanded, his voice still soft, but gaining a slight edge. “Which of you summoned me?”

It was Albus Dumbledore who stepped forward from the small crowd of people, older and more tired than Harry remembered, and Harry stared at him, waiting for a reply.

“I summoned you,” said Dumbledore, and there was resignation in his voice.

“For what purpose?” Harry asked, because that was part of how things were supposed to go. He already knew why they’d summoned him – there was only one reason anyone ever summoned the Master of Death. Only the desperate or the power-hungry ever called upon him, to vanquish their enemies. What few of them knew was that Harry was discriminate about those he helped – he didn’t simply help everyone who called upon him. Oh no. Harry still had his ‘saving people thing’, albeit in a very twisted form. His purpose in life was to protect innocent lives and lay waste to evildoers, and nothing and no one would stop him once he began that path.

Now, as he looked at Dumbledore, he wondered which side the old man was on – the side of the wronged, or the side of the wrongdoers.

“A terrible Dark Lord has conquered all of Wizarding Britain,” said Dumbledore. “I cannot tell you his name: to speak it means death. He believes in the purity of blood, and he and his followers have slaughtered those who do not fit with his ideals, or who go against his beliefs. I fear that if he is not stopped, the magical people of Britain will eventually come to an end. We seek your help?”

“Is that so?” Harry asked, genuinely interested. Using his legimens ability, he reached forward to comb Dumbledore’s mind, testing the veracity of the old wizard’s words. Harry might not have any gift for occlumency (not that anyone but a fool would attempt to read the mind of one so powerful and ancient), but legimency was an entirely different matter. Dumbledore stiffened at the contact, and tried to raise his occlumency shields, but Harry simply flowed over them, straight into Dumbledore’s mind.

It only took him a moment to verify what Dumbledore had said, and Harry pulled out of the wizard’s mind.

Dumbledore staggered back, and it was a thirty-something Lily Potter who came to his aid, putting an arm under his shoulder to support him. Harry found that several wands were pointed at him.

“What did you do?!” demanded an unfamiliar wizard.

“My apologies,” said Harry, meaning it. “I was merely testing the truth of his words.”

“But you accept that they are true?” Dumbledore asked, from where he was being supported by Lily. He looked rather pale, but otherwise unharmed by Harry’s intrusion.

“I do,” said Harry, inclining his head. “And I will help you.”

“At what price?” Lily asked, and Harry looked into her bright green eyes, which were fierce and afraid.

Harry smiled gently, even though they couldn’t see it.

“I’m one of the less demanding of the Powers. My only price is the blood of your enemies.”

With that, Harry lifted one leg and stepped carefully out of the summoning circle. There were sounds of horror, and most of the people in the room hastily backed away. To their credit, Dumbledore and Lily stayed where they were, although Lily swallowed hard, her fear obvious.

“You shouldn’t be able to leave the summoning circle without our permission,” said Dumbledore, his blue eyes never leaving the darkness beneath Harry’s hood.

“Is that so?” Harry was amused, and knew that the others in the room could hear it in his voice. “Do you really think that I am such a weak Power that a mere summoning circle could hold me?”

“Dear Merlin, what have we done?” whispered one of the other occupants of the room, who Harry recognised, after a moment, as one Dedalus Diggle.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr Diggle,” said Harry idly, turning to face him, and watching Diggle jump at the sound of his name, “I always keep my word.”

“So you’ll go after You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters? No one else?” asked a new voice, and Harry closed his eyes at the sight of yet another familiar face, before opening them again.

“Yes, Mr Potter,” Harry assured him gently. “Only the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.”

“How do you know my name?” James asked. His eyes were bright and defiant despite his wary posture.

Harry smiled wryly.

“There are many realities, Mr Potter. This is only one of them. And I have had the opportunity of briefly meeting you before.”

Harry had never summoned his parents’ spirits often, knowing how it hurt the dead to be separated from their rightful realm, but he had called them once or twice, just to talk to them, and ask them questions. It was an occasional thing, no more than that.

It did not do to dwell on the dead and forget to live, after all.

James looked disconcerted by Harry’s answer. It was Lily who responded.

“You’ve met James in another reality?”

“Briefly, as I said,” Harry agreed. He looked at her curiously. “In that reality, the two of you were married. Is it so in this reality?”

Lily looked worried at being the subject of Harry’s full attention, but nodded.

“Hm,” Harry said, half to himself. “Interesting. And you have dear old Tommy-boy in place here, too. I wonder what else is the same?”

“Tommy-boy?” echoed one of the witches Harry didn’t know. Harry turned his head towards her.

“Your Dark Lord,” Harry explained kindly. “His real name is Tom.” Harry’s smile turned wicked. “Now, him I have _definitely_ met before.”

A murmur swept the room, and Harry chuckled to himself. The murmur stopped abruptly.

“So,” Harry said conversationally, looking at Dumbledore, “now that we’ve agreed that I’m going to kill your Dark Lord for you, why don’t you go ahead and tell me everything?”

* * *

They didn’t quite tell him everything, Harry was canny enough to recognise that much, but they told him most of it.

In some ways, the situation in this world was quite similar to that of Harry’s original world, but with a few key differences. It had been a young Neville Longbottom who Voldemort had marked as his equal, that long-ago night of Halloween 1981, and Frank and Alice who had died trying to protect their son. Neville had grown up with his grandmother, and lived a fairly secluded and sheltered life until he went to Hogwarts. He’d faced down Quirrell in his first year, and Tom Riddle’s diary in his second; it was in his fourth year, with the Triwizard Tournament, that everything had gone wrong. Neville had done well in the Tournament – won it, even – but as in Harry’s world, the Cup had been a portkey. Voldemort had used Neville’s blood to resurrect himself, and then murdered Neville in a mocking parody of a duel in front of the assembled Death Eaters. From there, the situation had declined.

“I assume that Neville was the child of prophecy, then?” Harry asked, from where he sat in the armchair across from Dumbledore’s.

Dumbledore’s eyes flashed as he regarded the Master of Death. That hadn’t been one of the things Harry had looked at inside Dumbledore’s mind.

“You know of the prophecy?”

“I did tell you that there are many realities,” Harry reminded him. “This is hardly the first where Tom has tried to reign over Britain, nor the first where his downfall has been foreseen.”

Harry glanced at Lily and James, who were hovering some distance away, along with the other Order of the Phoenix members.

“Do you have a child the same age as Neville?” Harry asked, tilting his head.

“Why do you want to know?” James asked belligerently.

Harry said nothing. He simply sat and waited.

“We do,” Lily finally admitted, under the weight of his stare. James sent her a betrayed look. “Our daughter, Abigail. She’s our oldest child.”

Harry turned that over in his mind, putting that fact together with what he knew of Voldemort’s character.

“I suppose that explains it, then,” Harry murmured to himself.

“Explains what?” asked James suspiciously.

“Why it was Neville and not your child,” said Harry, who saw no reason why he shouldn’t explain. “It wouldn’t surprise me to find that Tom would favour a male child over a female one, in terms of threat assessment.” He shifted thoughtfully. “I assume that Abigail is guarded, in case Tom ever changes his mind about the other subject of the prophecy.”

Harry’s explanation didn’t seem to reassure James and Lily at all. Lily clutched at James’ arm, while James’ mouth formed a tight line.

“Tom has never shown any interest in Abigail Potter,” said Dumbledore, who seemed less unsettled than everyone else. “But she is protected, yes.”

“Good,” said Harry. He’d never met Abigail Potter, but she was, in a sense, family, and that meant something to Harry. Another question occurred to him, and he peered at the Potters. “You said that she is your eldest child. Does that mean you have others?”

“Stop asking about our family!” James exploded, his expression full of fear and fury. His hand was resting on his wand. “What does it matter to you?”

Harry blinked once.

“Because I always look out for Potters,” he said dryly. “It’s kind of a thing, with me.”

“Why the Potters?” Dumbledore asked intently, leaning forward.

Harry shrugged.

“I have my reasons,” he said vaguely. This didn’t seem to placate James, but Lily murmured in his ear, and he visibly reigned himself in.

The door opened, and two men entered, both of them wearing faces that Harry knew well. He smiled to himself, genuinely glad to see that they were alive and more-or-less well in this universe.

“Albus,” said Sirius, eyeing Harry curiously.

“Sirius, Remus,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “Any new information?”

“Just the usual,” said Remus, with a wry shake of his head. “More muggleborn and half-blood children were turned in the last attack. Even more were killed outright.”

“Nothing new to report on my end, either,” added Sirius. “No one’s quite sure what he’s up to at the moment, but everyone’s dreading whatever comes next. Even the Aurors aren’t sure when the next attack or revel is going to be.”

“I see,” said Dumbledore, looking more weary than ever. He glanced at Harry. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to our newest ally, the Master of Death.”

Both Sirius and Remus tensed, their eyes immediately flicking back to Harry.

“So you summoned it,” Sirius murmured. “That’s a hell of a risky move, Albus.”

“I made what I considered to be the best choice, under the circumstances,” said Albus. It had the air of something he’d said many times before.

“I prefer male pronouns, as it happens,” Harry said pleasantly. “He, not ‘it’, thank you, Mr Black.”

“You know who I am?” Sirius snapped out. Harry nodded.

“I knew your counterpart in another reality. He was a good man, if a little too prone to judgement. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Sirius gave a barking laugh.

“Well, at least you’re an eldritch horror with _manners_ ,” he said, as Remus hissed _Sirius!_ under his breath.

“I do try,” said Harry, grinning. “Although don’t expect me to have the best table manners: I always get the forks confused.”

Sirius laughed again, even though Remus’ fingers were digging into his arm and James was staring at him incredulously.

“If we could get back to the matter at hand?” Dumbledore suggested, steepling his fingers.

“Of course,” said Harry, his gaze returning to the elderly wizard.

“You now understand our predicament,” said Dumbledore. “The one prophesised to hold the power to end Tom is dead, and none of our efforts to stop him have been successful.”

“I see.” Harry tilted his head again. “You’re not telling me everything, Albus. You mentioned that Neville destroyed Tom’s diary. Did that give you any clues to how he was keeping himself immortal?”

Harry was amused at the way the rest of the room leaned forward, apparently even more eager to know the answer than Harry was. Dumbledore had been keeping his cards close to his chest, then.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment.

“I take it that you already know the answer to that question.”

“Oh, I have my suspicions, but I don’t _know_ , not for certain,” Harry demurred cheerfully. “What I suspect, Albus Dumbledore, is that the discovery of the diary led you to research foul and forbidden arts, until you discovered a possible method for Tom’s continued immortality: the horcrux. Am I right?”

Most of the room looked uncomprehending, but there was one person who clearly understood the significance of Harry’s words.

“ _Horcrux?”_ Sirius blurted, his face pale. “ _That son of a_ – he made a _horcrux?_ ”

Harry looked at Sirius.

“I take it that you know what that is?”

Sirius waved the question away impatiently.

“I was force-fed enough Dark Arts books as a kid to know about all kinds of things, but even my family wouldn’t have been mad enough to make one of those. Albus? You-Know-Who really made a horcrux?”

“No, Sirius,” Dumbledore said sadly. “He made more than one.”

“Seven, in my experience,” Harry added. “Powerful magical number, you know.”

Dumbledore seemed to wither a little before Harry’s eyes.

“I had hoped that he had stopped at three,” the old wizard admitted. “To have created seven–”

“Mutilates his soul unbelievably, I know,” Harry agreed, with a nod of the head. “Not to mention makes him harder to kill.”

“Can you do it?” asked an unfamiliar wizard.

Harry laughed. The sound made the rest of the room shrink back, apart from Dumbledore.

“Of course I can,” Harry said, amused at the question. “In the end, he is but a man, no matter what unnatural acts he has performed upon himself. And I am… far more than human.” Harry looked at Dumbledore. “Fortunately, I have a good idea where to start. In the meantime, however, where do you expect me to stay?”

“Stay?” someone echoed.

“I do sleep and eat,” Harry pointed out. “And it will take me time to do what I need to. So, where should I stay?”

There was a long, heavy silence.

“Oh, what the hell,” said Sirius, shrugging. “You can stay here.”

“Padfoot!” said James.

“Well, he has to stay somewhere,” Sirius argued. “I, for one, do not want to see what happens when an eldritch being from beyond this world gets irritable. And it’s not like I don’t have the room. Kreacher’ll probably be delighted to be housing him, too, which might get me some peace.” Sirius looked at Harry. “Some of the house is still booby-trapped from my mother’s time, but as long as you don’t mind that, you’re welcome to pick a spare bedroom.”

Harry let his snicker be heard.

“Does her portrait still yell at everyone from the hallway?”

“You know about…?” Sirius began, before shaking his head. “Right, other worlds. Yeah, she does. I don’t suppose you know how to get rid of an enchanted painting that’s been warded, do you?” he asked hopefully.

“Possibly,” Harry allowed. He was greatly enjoying his interactions with Sirius. Everyone else was scared stiff of him – even Dumbledore, for all he hid it well – but Sirius was accepting Harry’s presence relatively well. “I’d have to take a closer look.”

“Is there anything else that needs to be addressed in this meeting, Albus?” Remus asked. “Because if not, I need to have a talk with Sirius.”

Dumbledore gave Harry a look, long and piercing. Since Harry was still hidden by the folds of his cloak, he wasn’t particularly put-off by this.

“No,” Dumbledore said at last. “Let this meeting come to an end. You are all dismissed.”

Harry watched as the room drained of people, before getting to his feet, and leaving to pick a room.

* * *

Harry didn’t stay to overhear the argument James, Lily and Remus were having with Sirius. He was too busy exploring the Black house. To his delight, it appeared to be much the same as the house he knew, right down to the tripping jinx on the troll-leg umbrella stand in the front hallway.

Harry wandered back upstairs, which was where he ran into Kreacher.

The house elf was exiting a doorway when he caught sight of Harry. Kreacher’s eyes bulged comically, and Harry remembered that house elves possessed a form of mage sight. No doubt Kreacher could see exactly what Harry was.

“Peace, Kreacher,” Harry said genially. “I mean no harm.”

“Great big eldritch abomination,” Kreacher muttered under his breath, his wide eyes fixed on Harry. “Master of Death in the Mistress’ house!”

“That’s right,” Harry agreed, letting the ‘abomination’ comment pass. He crouched down slightly until he was closer to Kreacher’s level, and went with a guess. “Kreacher, I’m here to help destroy the locket that Regulus Black gave you.”

Kreacher’s eyes widened to saucer-like proportions.

“The Master of Death is here to destroy the locket?” he breathed.

“I am,” said Harry gently. “And I am sure you know that my kind don’t lie. Will you bring it to me, Kreacher?”

Kreacher bobbed his head, and vanished for a moment. When he reappeared, he was holding the locket. Harry took it from him.

Harry considered how best to destroy the locket. There was always fiendfyre, of course, but Sirius likely wouldn’t appreciate fiendfyre inside the house.

Harry laughed slightly to himself, and decided to go with the more tiring route.

Letting the horcrux rest in the palm of his hand, Harry drew on his magic, until the locket was surrounded by vivid green light, growing brighter and brighter.

It was at this point that the locket snapped open, and an unnatural wail started up.

Harry heard footsteps thundering down the landing as the horcrux continued to scream, its voice warped and strained as Harry drained its magic. Harry drew out the piece of soul, and sent it on to the netherworld. The screams abruptly stopped.

Harry glanced up to see a pale Sirius, James, Remus, and Lily staring at him.

“Ah, sorry about the noise,” he said apologetically. “Horcruxes tend to do that, when I destroy them.”

“Where did it come from?” Lily asked shakily.

“Kreacher had it,” Harry explained helpfully.

“There was a _horcrux_ in my _house?_ ” Sirius spluttered, looking horrified. Harry nodded.

“Your brother Regulus intended to destroy it, but died in the process. When he failed, Kreacher tried to carry out his last wishes, but the magic of the locket was too strong. I thought it might be here, and so I asked Kreacher for it. He gave it to me.” Harry smiled at the house elf. “Thank you, Kreacher. You should be able to destroy it, now.” Harry held out the locket.

Hesitating, Kreacher took the locket from Harry, and vanished again. A moment later there was a whoop of joy, and Kreacher was back.

“Master of Death has helped Kreacher destroy the locket!” Kreacher cried, hugging Harry’s leg and crying. Harry patted him awkwardly on the head.

“Regulus would be proud of you,” he suggested, which only made Kreacher cry harder.

Looking up again, Harry saw that the others were just staring, looking stunned.

“There was a horcrux in my _house_ ,” Sirius said again.

“Why do you live here, anyway?” Harry asked. “I thought you hated it here.”

A bitter look took over Sirius’ face, and James rested a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“I did have another place, but the Death Eaters burnt it to the ground,” Sirius said. “The wards here are old enough and powerful enough to protect the house from most things, and since Albus cast the _Fidelius_ , no one but the Order can find the place. So this is my home, whether I like it or not.”

“How do you know so much about Sirius?” Lily asked. Her voice was wary.

Harry shrugged.

“In the world I came from originally, we were distantly related through my grandmother,” Harry said. Not that Harry had known that, for a long time.

James looked appalled.

“You’re _related?_ ”

“James,” said Lily tensely, elbowing him. “Please don’t say anything insulting.”

“I wasn’t going to! I was just – surprised.”

Sirius squinted at Harry.

“Wait, so you’re a Black, then?” he said.

“In blood, if not in name,” Harry allowed. It was more or less true, after all – Dorea Potter had originally been a Black.

Sirius snorted.

“It figures one of my family would be an eldritch horror. Explains a lot, actually.”

Remus cast an apprehensive glance at Harry, clearly wondering if Harry was going to get upset.

Harry wasn’t actually bothered by Sirius calling him an eldritch horror. After all, from a human perspective, the term was accurate enough. Besides, Sirius used the phrase without venom, clearly not meaning it as any kind of insult, the way some humans would have.

“What should we call you?” Sirius asked. “ ‘Master of Death’ is a bit of a mouthful. And if you’re some sort of cousin…” Sirius gave a shrug. “Well, it seems rude not to ask.”

“Since when do you have manners?” Remus hissed, at the same time as James said, “I cannot believe you.”

“Sirius…” Lily began, and trailed off, darting worried glances at Harry.

Harry, for his part, tipped his head back a little in thought.

He’d gotten used to answering to the title of the Master of Death, but having someone around who wanted to call him by his name was… nice.

“Harry,” he said eventually. “My name is Harry.”

“Harry Black, then,” Sirius said, sounding surprisingly cheerful about the whole thing. “Did you get around to picking a room?”

Harry shook his head.

“Then I might as well give you the tour, just in case the house is a little different from what you expect,” said Sirius. The look he gave the others was firm. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

* * *

The others eventually left, leaving Harry and Sirius alone in the house. Harry was mostly silent as Sirius showed him around.

“You’re taking this pretty well,” Harry said finally, when Sirius had finished showing him around.

Sirius hesitated, and then let out a rueful laugh.

“This isn’t exactly the first time I’ve dealt with supernatural entities,” he admitted.

Harry’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh?”

Sirius’ gaze turned distant.

“My grandfather was a strange man. Very interested in dark magic. Until I was seven years old, he kept a demon captive in the cellar.”

Harry blinked.

“Well, that doesn’t sound very safe.”

Sirius gave his bark-like laugh.

“It wasn’t,” he agreed, with a flash of sardonic humour. “But I was only young, and didn’t know any better, and so I used to sneak in to talk to the thing. It used to tell me stories, you see. So there I was, visiting a demon regularly, and then one day I accidentally walked into the summoning circle.”

Harry winced.

“It took a two-hour exorcism to get the demon out of me,” Sirius said conversationally, as though they were talking about nothing more exciting than the weather. “For once, my mother was madder at my grandfather than she was at me. But the whole experience left me a little… different, when it comes to supernatural entities.”

“It left part of itself behind,” said Harry quietly, because that was what happened, when a human was possessed by a demon.

“Yeah,” said Sirius, and his eyes were darker than they should have been. “Dear old mum didn’t trust me, after that, even though my father assured her that I was still the same person. I don’t entirely blame her, given the circumstances – or I wouldn’t, if she hadn’t been nearly as bad to Reggie.” Sirius hesitated. “Did my brother really die trying to destroy You-Know-Who’s horcrux?”

“He did,” Harry confirmed.

Sirius closed his eyes, his face falling into the well-worn lines of old and tired grief.

“I guess I should have given the kid more credit,” he said. “But he always seemed so invested in the Black ways – although, I suppose that even the Blacks would have baulked at a Dark Lord who divided their soul.” Sirius sighed a little. “I wish he’d come to me for help, though it’s not surprising that he didn’t.”

Harry watched Sirius with sympathetic eyes. He’d never known Regulus, and he couldn’t remember his own Sirius ever speaking of him, but it was clear that on some level this Sirius had loved his little brother even if they hadn’t been close.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry. “But at least he died doing something right. That must be of some consolation.”

“Not really,” said Sirius, shaking his head. But he seemed to take Harry’s words in the spirit that they were meant.

“So,” said Sirius, changing the subject, “which room do you want to sleep in?”

Harry considered the question.

“The small green one, on the second floor,” he decided. Sirius nodded.

“Well, there’s fresh linens in the hallway cupboard, if you want to change them. I’m planning on going downstairs and cooking dinner. I suppose you’ll join me?”

Harry inclined his head.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” Sirius said. “I’m going to be cooking anyway. Won’t make much difference to cook for two. I’ll leave you to get settled in,” he added. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” said Harry gravely, and went to cast cleaning charms across the bedroom he’d chosen.

* * *

Dinner went smoothly, and Harry spent the night sleeping in the small green bedroom on the second floor. He slept without dreaming, the way he always did these days, and woke early. He chose to go downstairs and make himself a cup of hot chocolate and some toast, and was sitting at the kitchen table when he heard the front door slam and a voice shout, “Uncle Sirius!”

A couple of minutes later a teenage girl of about seventeen years old walked in, stopping short as she saw Harry’s hooded figure. Harry stared, knowing that it was hidden by his cloak.

The girl – who had to be Abigail Potter – looked remarkably like him. Her face was softer and rounder than his, and her hair was long, but she had the same untameable black hair and green eyes, bright and fearless. She looked to be about the same age that Harry did, which only added to the resemblance. Female or not, Abigail was clearly Harry’s counterpart in this reality. How fascinating.

“I think Sirius is still asleep,” Harry said politely to the staring girl. “But you’re welcome to join me.”

The girl didn’t move, still staring frankly at Harry.

“You must be the Master of Death.” Her gaze was appraising. “Mum and Dad mentioned you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They said I wasn’t to visit Uncle Sirius while you were here, because it’s too dangerous.”

“So you immediately rushed over here?” Harry asked, amused.

Abigail folded her arms.

“Well, I wasn’t about to leave Uncle Sirius alone with you!” she exclaimed. “What if something happened?”

“I assure you, I intend no harm to my cousin,” Harry told her. Abigail made a choked noise.

“ _Cousin?_ ”

“Dorea Black was my grandmother,” said Harry placidly, to see what would happen, and watched Abigail’s eyes narrow.

“Dorea Black is _my_ grandmother,” she said.

“You don’t say?” Harry made no attempt to keep the mirth from his voice.

Abigail stared at him in suspicion.

“I want to see your face,” she said slowly.

Harry didn’t usually allow people to see what he looked like – for one thing, they usually didn’t take him seriously, given that Harry hadn’t aged since he was seventeen and had first claimed the Deathly Hallows – but for once he put up his hands and lowered his hood.

Harry’s eyes met Abigail’s, and she sucked in a shocked breath.

“What–” she started, before pulling herself together. “Is this some kind of prank?”

“No prank,” Harry said smilingly. “This is what I really look like, and before you ask, I really am the Master of Death.”

“So why do you look like _me?_ ” Abigail wasn’t mollified.

It was at this point that Sirius stumbled into the kitchen, yawning. It took him a second to realise what he was seeing.

He gaped at Harry, who only smiled pleasantly at him.

“Good morning,” Harry said.

Sirius made a wheezing noise and pointed.

“Yes?” Harry gave him an inquiring look. Harry was hugely enjoying himself. Sirius and Abigail’s matching looks of shock were very entertaining.

“You look just like Abigail!” Sirius accused, finding his voice.

“I did tell you I wasn’t a Black in name, only in blood,” said Harry.

“So you’re a Potter?” asked Abigail.

“Harry James Potter, at your service,” said Harry. “Although technically the only name which I answer to these days is the Master of Death.”

Sirius sank into a chair, never taking his eyes from Harry.

“You’re James and Lily’s son.”

Harry nodded once, seeing no reason to lie.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered. “No wonder you kept your hood up all last night.”

“People tend to question my competence if they see my face,” Harry explained, glancing between Sirius and Abigail. Sirius looked like he was considering all the implications, while Abigail had moved on to open curiosity.

“So does that make you my inter-dimensional brother?” she asked.

“More like your inter-universal double,” Harry responded. “Except, of course, that as the Master of Death, I transcend any single reality.”

“Merlin,” said Sirius. “James and Lily would be horrified if they knew.” He seemed to suddenly notice that Abigail was still there, and frowned. “Abi, what are you doing here? Your parents said that they weren’t going to let you visit until Harry was gone.”

“Well–” Abigail shifted uncomfortably. Sirius understood at once. He groaned.

“James and Lily are going to kill me! What were you _thinking?_ ”

“I was thinking that you were all alone while an _Outsider_ was in your house,” Abigail shot back. “Besides, I’m seventeen. I’m an adult. Mum and Dad can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

Sirius laughed at that.

“You’re so wrong about that that I don’t even know where to start.”

Abigail scowled, looking stubborn.

“Besides, it’ll be okay. I’ll just tell them who Harry is–”

“No, you won’t,” Harry said calmly, drawing the Elder Wand and snapping off a secrecy charm.

“What did you just do?” Sirius asked sharply.

“Secrecy charm,” Harry answered, putting his wand away. “I don’t want my identity known.”

Abigail gave him an indignant glare, but Harry was unmoved, raising his hood again so that his face could no longer be seen.

“You should go home and stop worrying your parents,” said Harry, getting to his feet. “Perhaps I’ll see you another time. Sirius, I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?” Abigail asked.

Harry grinned.

“I have things to do,” he said mysteriously, and Apparated out of the house, overwhelming the anti-Apparition wards with sheer power.

* * *

Harry went after the Peverell ring first.

It was his, after all, even if events had gone differently in this world. Harry had united the Hallows, and been granted their power; there would never be another world in which the Hallows were joined together to raise their Master to his full glory. Just as well, Harry reflected, as he approached the Gaunt shack.

The shack looked abandoned and run-down, but when Harry really _looked_ at it, it proved to be covered with wards, layered over one another so as to trap and then summarily kill anyone foolhardy enough to enter the ramshackle building.

Harry grinned. He didn’t need to enter the building to destroy this horcrux. Instead, he drew his wand – the Elder Wand – and spoke an incantation.

There was a spark of flame in the long grasses at Harry’s feet, which within an instant grew to a great gout of flame, mutating as it grew. The flames branched out, each taking the form of a fiery thestral. The fiery beasts reared and bucked against Harry’s control, but Harry’s will was stronger than the sentient flames. Tossing their heads in defeat, the thestrals surged forwards towards the Gaunt shack.

In a matter of moments, the building was wreathed in rolling, living fire, which consumed everything that it touched. Harry watched as the shack burned, feeling the heat of the flames beating against his skin despite the distance between him and the fiery blaze.

One of the thestrals leapt towards the trees that grew up against the sides of the shack, but Harry reeled it back in towards the shack before the tree could do more than begin to smoulder.

Deep within the flames there was a high-pitched scream as the wards finally collapsed against the fiendfyre’s onslaught and the horcrux came into contact with the flames, but the sound was short-lived as the horcrux was consumed almost immediately. Harry watched the flames burn for a little while longer, before speaking the charm that would put out the fiendfyre.

Slowly, roaring and crackling in protest, the deadly fire dwindled, down to a tiny spark, and then vanished altogether. Harry was left standing facing a burned and blackened patch of land, still hot and smoking. He strode forward without pausing, even as his boots sizzled and grew uncomfortably warm. Harry cast a cooling charm at them and strode on.

Digging through the ashes with the toe of his boot, Harry stretched out his senses, looking for what he knew had to be there somewhere. A familiar magical signature – so like his own – was not far below his feet. Harry dug deeper, and saw a glint among the ashes. He pushes the ashes aside, revealing a gleaming black stone. The metal of the ring was gone – had melted under the fiendfyre’s heat – but the Resurrection Stone of this reality remained.

Harry picked it up, hissing as he burnt his fingers, and brought the Stone into contact with the ring he wore on his finger. The two Resurrection Stones promptly merged, as Harry knew they would. He’d found other versions of the Hallows before, in other worlds, and they always behaved in the same way.

Harry glanced back at the ashes, and smiled.

“One down,” he muttered, and apparated out.

* * *

Harry reappeared on the edges of Hogsmeade, and with a thought, his cloak activated its natural function, turning Harry invisible. He walked forward, heading for where Hogwarts castle stood on the hill. As he went, Harry scanned his surroundings.

The Hogsmeade Harry was familiar with had been a cheerful, picturesque little village, bustling with people. It was a nice day; the sun was shining and the sky was a bright blue, not a cloud in sight – exactly the kind of day that should have inspired people to go outside. Yet the streets were mostly empty, only one or two people abroad. They walked in a hurry, heads down, darting fearful glances at each other as they passed one another.

Many of the houses had fallen into disrepair, and several had broken windows and doors. Harry peered in through the shattered windows or gaping doorways. All of the houses with broken windows and doors looked as though they had been deserted abruptly, with items simply left out as though their owners had abandoned them mid-use. In several houses there were also signs of a struggle, with overturned furniture and curse marks on the walls.

Harry filed all of that information away for later, and continued walking.

It was a good fifteen-minute walk up to the castle itself. The grounds were as lovely as ever, but Harry drew little joy from them. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find at the school, but he doubted that it was going to be good.

Harry reached the school, and wasn’t surprised to find that the great castle doors were shut. He apparated silently, his power overwhelming the ancient wards, and re-materialised into the Great Hall.

It was early enough that the students and staff were still eating breakfast. Harry’s first impression was that the number of students was far smaller than he remembered. The second thing he noticed was the silence. Barring the clink of cutlery and a murmur here and there – mostly from the head table – the room was quiet, the students eating in silence.

Harry looked for familiar faces, and was dismayed to find very few. Most of the ones he did recognise belonged to Slytherin and Ravenclaw students he’d gone to school with.

The Gryffindor table was nearly deserted: only a handful of students remained. Hufflepuff was a little better, but not by much, and Harry wondered how many of the Hufflepuffs had fought for their friends, before being cut down. The thought made his mood turn cold and grim.

Harry had only three horcruxes to go, if things were the same as in his original world: the diadem, Hufflepuff’s cup, and Nagini. Harry had planned simply to retrieve and destroy the diadem, and then continue on his quest to destroy the horcruxes. But perhaps, he thought, surveying the silent, fearful students, perhaps he could deviate slightly from his original plan.

Harry drew his wand, and cast under his breath.

There was a flash of green light, and Alecto Carrow slumped into her bowl of porridge. Her brother was halfway to his feet when Harry’s second Killing Curse nailed him in the face: he keeled over backwards.

The staff were standing up, casting panicked spells in Harry’s direction, but Harry kept moving, and continued casting as he went. One of the Rosiers collapsed in another flash of green light, and Gibbon dove under the head table before Harry could hit him with the Killing Curse too.

Harry scowled, but continued going after the other Death Eater professors. Like all spells the Dark Mark carried the magical signature of its creator, and it took only a little concentration on Harry’s part to pick out the people with Tom Riddle’s magic burning on their arms.

Harry dropped to his knees next to the head table, lifting the tablecloth just long enough to slide under it.

“Look! There!” one of the teachers shouted, and Harry moved just in time to avoid an overpowered cutting hex.

Grimacing at his near escape, Harry pointed his wand at Gibbon and spoke.

“ _Avada Kedavra_.”

Green light, and Gibbon toppled to the floor.

Pretty sure that that was the last of the Death Eaters, Harry stretched out his senses: but there were no other Dark Marks in the vicinity. Harry took a deep breath, and flung himself out from under the head table.

Curses and hexes splashed down on the paving stones where Harry had been lying a second ago, but Harry was already rolling, out of the way of the spell-fire. He scrambled to his feet.

“Accio wands!” Harry bellowed, concentrating on the wands of the remaining teachers. Harry hastily stepped out of the way as roughly a dozen wands shot towards him like a small collection of spears. He had no desire to be impaled on somebody’s wand.

“Raise your hands and stay where you are!” Harry called out, and watched as the teachers reluctantly followed his orders. Minerva McGonagall was the last to do so, her nostrils flaring, which made Harry smile in fond memory.

With a thought Harry rippled back into visibility, keeping one eye on the wide-eyed students, just in case one of them tried to shoot off a spell at him.

“Who are you?” McGonagall demanded coldly, her voice trembling with anger. Harry sketched a short bow.

“You may call me the Master of Death, professor. I’m not here to hurt you, only the Death Eaters.”

“Avada Kedavra!” a voice suddenly screamed from the Slytherin table, and Harry turned to look in mild curiosity to see who it was, the Killing Curse hitting him square in the face.

There was a long, disbelieving silence in the Great Hall as Harry continued to stand there, unaffected by the Killing Curse.

Harry slowly turned to face the Slytherin table. The culprit was staring at him, face white.

“Bad move, Mr Nott,” Harry said pleasantly, and raised his wand faster than the human eye could follow. A silent stunner launched out of the Elder Wand and hit Theodore Nott right between the eyes. Nott dropped gracelessly out of sight behind the Slytherin table.

“As I was saying,” said Harry, turning back to the teachers, who were staring in incredulous fear, “I’m only here to harm Death Eaters. And their leader, of course. I’m actually here to retrieve an artefact that will help me destroy him, but I thought that I’d liberate the castle while I was at it.”

“What good does that do?” asked one of the teachers, someone Harry didn’t know. “The Dark Lord will just send in more, and punish us all for what you’ve done!”

Harry smirked.

“The Dark Lord will be dead within days,” he said calmly, ignoring the ripple of shock that went through the Great Hall. “His time is almost up. Barricade the castle, lock yourself out of the Floo Network for a few days – that should be enough.”

McGonagall was staring at Harry.

“Who are you?” she almost whispered.

Harry sighed.

“As I said, I am the Master of Death. I was summoned from beyond this world to deal with dear Mr Riddle.”

“Summoned from beyond this world?” McGonagall said sharply. She took an involuntary step backwards as understanding of what Harry was sunk in.

“You’re an _Outsider_ ,” she said, and there were gasps of consternation. Harry bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“I am,” he agreed. “So listen to me, Minerva McGonagall, and do as I say, and you and your students might survive this purge.”

Harry let his hold on human form slip, just a little: just enough for his shadow to twist and warp into new and terrifying configurations, spreading out across the floor. There were screams from the students, and Harry smirked, just a little.

McGonagall slowly nodded.

“I will take my leave of you,” said Harry, with another short bow, and without another word he headed for the doorway into the rest of the castle.

No one tried to stop him.

The diadem proved to be where Harry had expected it to be, in the Room of Requirement. Harry took a moment to appraise it. It was dusty and tarnished with age, covered with curses, and a compulsion designed to make anyone who touched it want to wear it. But beneath that, the original spellwork remained, complex and beautiful. It would be a shame to destroy such an artefact, Harry thought.

This time, instead of conjuring fiendfyre, he decided to do things the slow, tiresome way. Pulling out the Elder Wand, Harry began dismantling Voldemort’s spellwork, bit by bit, spell by spell. Harry lost track of the time, focusing only on what he was doing, as he stripped away all of Voldemort’s additions to leave only the horcrux and the original magic of the diadem itself.

Eventually Harry stepped back, and stretched, and cast a quick _Tempus_ to check the time. He was only a little surprised to find that it had taken him over two hours to take apart Voldemort’s spells on the diadem; time took on little meaning when Harry was concentrating on a task, particularly if that task was finicky and delicate, as this one had been.

There were only two magics left on the diadem now: the original spellwork constructed by Rowena Ravenclaw, and the sliver of Voldemort’s soul that crouched like a spider inside the metal framework of the diadem. As he had done with the locket, Harry drew on his power as the Master of Death, and the horcrux was surrounded by green light, screaming as it was destroyed. A moment later all that was left was the diadem – free of all of Voldemort’s tainted influences.

Slipping the diadem into his pocket, Harry didn’t bother to put away his wand. He simply walked out of the Room of Requirement, into the stone hallway beyond, and apparated from inside the castle, overwhelming the wards a second time.

Harry landed in a small muggle street off Diagon Alley, not far from the Leaky Cauldron. He walked into the wizard pub, taking in the hushed conversations, and continued on, out the back. There was the familiar brick wall, and Harry tapped the bricks with his wand, watching as they wriggled away to form an archway into Diagon Alley.

Red-robed Aurors patrolled the streets, which were mostly empty. Only a few shoppers were abroad, here and there, keeping their heads down and going on their way in fearful silence. The Aurors watched them go to and fro with predatory gazes, their hands never straying far from their wands: they looked as though they were only waiting for an excuse to subdue someone and drag them from the streets – no doubt never to be seen again, Harry thought grimly, feeling a certain detached fury at the thought.

One of the Aurors glanced his way, but Harry had already willed himself invisible. Harry went weaving through the meagre crowds, easily avoiding bumping into anyone and giving his presence away.

Gringotts Bank still stood where it always had, a tall, imposing building made of white stone – but instead of goblins at the silver gates, two wizards with Probity Probes stood there, ready to detect anyone coming into the bank for concealment spells or hidden magical objects. Harry walked casually between them without even pausing, into the huge, echoing marble hall beyond.

Here, too, there were few wizards and witches; but these few, rather than appearing tense and wary, moved instead like they owned the place, talking contemptuously to the goblin tellers as they demanded to make withdrawals from their accounts. The goblins sneered, and gazed at the witches and wizards with hatred, but grudgingly acquiesced.

Harry took all this in with a single, long look as he strolled invisibly across the hall, towards the doorway that led to the network of long subterranean tunnels that stretched below the bank itself. Only once he was in the tunnels did Harry apparate a second time.

He found himself standing in front of an unremarkable vault door that was nonetheless familiar. Grinning to himself as the sight stirred old, old memories, Harry stepped back, aimed his wand, and said in a carrying voice, “ _Reducto!_ ”

With a significant amount of Harry’s power behind the spell, the vault door didn’t stand much of a chance, despite the old and powerful spells laid upon it by the goblins of ages past. The door burst into smithereens, and somewhere in the distance, an alarm began a long, eerie wail.

Harry didn’t waste time. He strode into the Lestrange vault, casting his eyes around the space, trying not to touch any of the mounds of golden coins, or the goblets and other trinkets that were scattered liberally throughout the vault. As he walked, Harry  accidentally brushed against a golden candlestick, and about twenty replicas burst into existence, and clattered to the ground. To the ordinary witch or wizard, it would have been impossible to tell through vision alone which was the real candlestick, but Harry’s vision was no longer merely human: he could see magic, and easily distinguished the fakes from the real thing. But he paid the conjured candlesticks no mind, still looking around the vault for the Hufflepuff cup.

Faded, ancient memory made him look up: and there was the small golden cup, sitting on a shelf near the high ceiling, far beyond Harry’s reach. With a smirk, Harry whipped out a quick “ _Accio!_ ” knowing that his magic was more powerful than the magic that made objects inside the vault impervious to summoning spells. Sure enough, the cup flew from its position on the shelf as though jerked by an invisible string, and landed in Harry’s outstretched hand. Dozens of cups burst from it, rolling over the vault floor, and continued to replicate even as Harry ran for the vault door, the cup scalding his fingers. Harry cast a quick, overpowered “ _Finite!_ ” with his free hand, and both the burning and the replication stopped.

Harry ducked back through the vault doorway, still invisible, to find that he was no longer alone: a crowd of goblins was approaching the vault. One of them let out a shout as they saw Hufflepuff’s cup floating in mid-air, and Harry turned and ran in the other direction. The goblins followed.

Harry stopped short only a moment later, and said aloud, “Oh, that’s right, the dragon.”

Partially blinded, its scales turned milky white and flaky from its time underground, the dragon roared, and Harry ducked a gout of flame on reflex.

He glanced over his shoulder to where the goblins were still in hot pursuit, and made a split-second decision. Yes, he could simply apparate out, but… where was the flair and panache in that?

Grinning wildly, Harry yelled, “ _Relashio!_ ” as he pointed his wand at the cuffs that held the enormous beast captive. The cuffs opened, and Harry sprinted forwards, under the next gout of fire, and threw himself forward. There were yells behind him from the goblins, but Harry was already climbing the dragon’s side, pulling himself up its giant body until he was sitting between the great, spiked wings.

Harry aimed his wand at the tunnel ceiling, and with a bellowed “ _Defodio!”_ gouged a giant hole in the roof of the tunnel. He cast the spell a second time, gouging out the sides of the tunnel, creating more space. The dragon seemed to realise then that it was free, and spread its enormous wings, and roared.

The goblins who had been pursuing Harry screamed and yelled, and panicking, tried to escape back down the tunnel as the dragon launched itself upwards, scrabbling through the hole in the ceiling, and taking flight. There were several fraught minutes where Harry held onto the dragon’s back as best he could without letting go of Hufflepuff’s cup, and then –

The dragon burst through a wall, into the marble hall, and there were screams of terror as the bank’s customers ran for their lives. Roaring, spouting flames, the dragon followed the rectangle of light at the end of the hall, where the exit was, and forced itself through Gringott’s front doors, while on its back Harry laughed hysterically. Out in the street, Harry rolled off the dragon’s back and hit the street cobbles just as the dragon spread its wings to their full extent, its snout upturning to the clear, blue sky, and took off flying.

Still laughing, Harry apparated out of Diagon Alley, and back to Grimmauld Place.

He landed in the kitchen, where Remus jumped violently, spilling a cup of tea all down the front of his robes, and looking unnerved at the sight of the Master of Death laughing uproariously.

Sirius took it a little better: although he jumped as well, he only surveyed Harry with interest, and said, “Something funny?”

“I just escaped Gringotts on the back of a dragon,” Harry said, grinning broadly. “It was a lot more fun this time round.”

“This time round?” Remus repeated, staring at Harry with palpable unease, as he cast a spell to vanish the tea that had gone done his front.

Harry nodded, and placed Hufflepuff’s cup carefully down on the kitchen table.

“It’s not the first time I’ve broken into Gringotts to steal this thing,” he said, nodding to the cup. “The first time was a lot more hair-raising. I wasn’t the Master of Death then, you see, and that sort of thing was a lot more difficult than it is now.”

“You weren’t always the Master of Death?” Remus blurted, looking intrigued in spite of himself. “I thought…”

“Some of us are born to be eldritch horrors, some of us achieve the status of eldritch horrors through our own efforts, and yet others have that status thrust upon them,” said Harry, still grinning.

“And which are you?” Sirius asked bluntly.

“Oh, I had Master of Death status thrust upon me,” Harry admitted cheerfully. “I was terribly upset about the whole thing, at first, but, well, I’ve been what I am for long enough that I’ve come to perceive the advantages, I suppose. I don’t really think the same way as I did when I was still human.”

“How did you become the Master of Death, then?” Remus overcame his unease enough to ask the question.

Harry only smiled wryly to himself, and said, “Trade secret, Mr Lupin.”

Remus looked a little disappointed for a moment, but then seemed to console himself with the thought that perhaps he was better off not knowing.

“You really escaped Gringotts on the back of a dragon?” Sirius seemed impressed.

“I did,” said Harry. “Now, if you will give me a moment –”

Harry turned back to Hufflepuff’s cup, and destroyed the horcrux which resided within. Like the others, it screamed as it was killed, and when was done, Remus was looking more unnerved than ever, while Sirius looked at the cup with a sober expression.

“I take it you just destroyed another of that dark bastard’s horcruxes?”

“I did,” Harry confirmed. “That’s the locket, the ring, the diadem, and the cup down, and of course Neville destroyed the diary in his second year. That leaves only Nagini, assuming that she was made a horcrux in this world. And then,” Harry finished, with great satisfaction, “Tom Riddle will be entirely mortal.”

“Who or what is Nagini?” asked Sirius, as Remus hovered in the corner of the room, as though he wanted to leave, but didn’t dare leave Sirius alone with the Master of Death in case something happened to him.

“Tom’s snake,” said Harry. “I’ll deal with her next, then Tom himself. But first,” he said, looking expectantly at Sirius, “do you have any idea what I could have for lunch? It’s been an eventful morning.”

For some reason, Sirius started to laugh, and couldn’t seem to stop.

Harry shrugged, and began looking through the various cupboards for something to eat.

* * *

It turned out that Voldemort’s main base of operations was Malfoy Manor. According to Sirius, the place was warded up to high heaven, and guarded by dozens of Death Eaters.

“That won’t be a problem,” Harry assured Sirius. “I _am_ an eldritch being of incredible power, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Trust me, I haven’t,” said Sirius, jovially enough, while Remus clutched his cup of tea and tried to pretend he was somewhere else, if the look on his face was any indication.

So after a light lunch, Harry apparated out to the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Sure enough, the building itself was covered with wards and protective spells, designed to keep out any hostile individuals.

As Harry walked up to the front door, invisible to mortal eyes, the wards and spells did their best to stop him entering, but bent and collapsed under the weight of Harry’s power.

Harry had been to Malfoy Manor before, on several occasions, none of them particularly pleasant for anyone involved. He easily navigated his way through the house, slipping past the guards and other Death Eaters, until he reached the drawing room.

There, a meeting was taking place, with Death Eaters seated along the length of the long ornate table. Voldemort sat at its head, pale and scarlet-eyed, wearing a simple black robe.

Harry smiled nastily at the sight of him. The second-last portion of Tom Riddle’s soul was a mere sliver, barely tethered to the land of the living, not that Voldemort was aware of it.

Harry turned his eyes away from Voldemort, to the great serpent slithering around the edges of the room, hissing restlessly, demanding a meal. Voldemort was ignoring Nagini’s complaints, focusing instead on the meeting.

Harry raised his wand.

“ _Avada Kedavra.”_

At the flash of green light that accompanied the softly-spoken words, Voldemort looked up, just as Harry rippled into visibility, twirling his wand casually.

“Hello, Tom,” Harry said pleasantly, his features still hidden by the hood of his cloak. “Ready to pay the piper?”

“You _dare_ ,” said Voldemort, rising from his chair, as the Death Eaters murmured and went for their wands. He didn't seem to have noticed Nagini dead on the floor - _yet._

“ _Accio_ wands!” Harry said, with a sharp twist of his wand; the wands of the assembled Death Eaters flew towards him, just as they had when he’d pulled the same trick at Hogwarts, and Harry cast a shield spell powerful enough to stop solid objects, halting the wands in their path. They fell to the floor with a series of light thumps, clattering as they collided. Harry dismissed the shield.

“Who are you?” asked Voldemort, raising his own wand, which he’d managed to hold onto, and circled around the table and his Death Eaters to approach Harry. “Who dares challenge _me?_ ”

“They call me the Master of Death,” said Harry, and there was a gasp from one of the assembled Death Eaters.

“Lucius?” Voldemort asked, without looking around.

“My lord – the Master of Death is one of the Outsiders listed in Goldfinch’s _Compendium of Major Demons and Other Eldritch Entities_ ,” said a voice that Harry recognised.

“An Outsider? Those are children’s stories – nothing but old myths,” scoffed one of the other Death Eaters.

“Are they?” Harry asked softly, and released his grip on his human form. His body warped and twisted into impossible dimensions, and the mere sight of Harry’s true form was more than a human mind could take.

There were screams of horror, and then nothing but silence, as the Death Eaters’ minds fractured under the strain of trying to process what they were seeing, and gave up on sanity altogether.

Only Voldemort – by now something far less than human – retained a semblance of sanity. His eyes were wide with fear and horror as he stared at Harry.

“ **Your horcruxes are gone, Tom** ,” said Harry with his dozens of mouths, past serrated teeth, the words resonating with alien, unearthly harmonies. “ **There is no escape for you.** ”

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” Voldemort cried out, but the spell splashed harmlessly off Harry’s monstrous form.

Ominous green light began to build around Harry, and finally believing that he was dealing with an Outsider, Voldemort turned, and tried to run.

Halfway to the other end of the room, the green light reached him, and Voldemort fell, his body lifeless before it even hit the carpeted floor.

It took Harry a moment to put his human form back together, making himself small and constrained again, but after a couple of minutes he was once again standing in his human body, his wand in hand.

He raised his head, and stretched out his senses. There were still dozens of marked Death Eaters left alive on the property, and countless more across Britain. They would take time to track down, but Harry didn’t consider this world properly liberated until he had dealt with every last one.

“Time to go hunting,” Harry murmured, his smile dark and full of teeth, and raised his wand.

* * *

It took a week to track down every remaining Death Eater in Britain. While their Dark Marks had faded and gone dormant, Harry could still sense the lingering magic from the spell Voldemort had used to mark his followers, and was able to use it to trace them all.

Only when Harry could no longer sense any Dark Marks, anywhere, did he consider himself satisfied.

There was a tugging beneath his breastbone, telling him that he was being summoned to a new world, but it could wait a little longer yet.

Godric’s Hollow was a place that Harry hadn’t been to in a long time. It still seemed much the same. Harry caught his breath as he stopped in front of a familiar house, one that was hidden to most mortal eyes. The last time he’d seen it, long ago, in another world, it was a dilapidated wreck – but here, it stood sturdy and whole.

Harry walked up the garden path, and used a quiet “ _Alohomora_ ,” on the front door. The lock clicked open, and Harry opened the door, and walked inside.

Memories of a rotting, half-collapsed building superimposed themselves over what Harry was seeing, and he shook his head, dismissing them, as he walked forward.

There was an animated discussion going on in the kitchen, one which came to an abrupt halt as the occupants noticed Harry, standing diffidently in the doorway.

“Hello,” said Harry.

“ _You!_ ” said James, in a distinctly unflattering tone. He was on his feet in an instant, putting himself between Harry and his family. The younger children were watching Harry curiously. “How did you get in here? We’re under _Fidelius!_ ”

“Outsider, remember?” Harry reminded him easily.

“What do you want?” asked Lily cautiously.

Harry hesitated, and then reached up to his hood, and pulled it back, revealing his face.

There was a dumbfounded silence.

“What…” James tried, staring, only for his words to trail off, as he attempted to absorb what he was seeing.

“The name I was born with was Harry James Potter,” said Harry gently. “My parents were James and Lily Potter. In my world, Voldemort killed them when I was a year old. I was the Boy-Who-Lived, and although I didn’t know it for a long time, in that moment Destiny chose me.”

Lily put a hand to her mouth.

“We were going to name Abigail Harry, if she was a boy,” Lily said, and Harry could see in her eyes that she believed him. There was pain there, as well as horror.

“This is some kind of sick joke,” James said angrily.

“It isn’t.” Harry smiled benignly at him. “I just wanted you to know, before I left this world. It’s nice to find a world where I have family, even if it isn’t really mine.”

He looked to Abigail.

“You’re lucky to have your parents,” he said honestly. “It took me a long time to grow out of wanting mine.”

“Harry…” Lily reached out involuntarily, then pulled her hand back, unsure.

“Voldemort is dead, and so are all his Death Eaters,” Harry told the Potters. “You’re as safe as I can make you. Take advantage of it. Oh, and pass along my regards to Sirius. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to spend more time with him, but it’s good to see him alive, in any world.”

Harry smiled at them, soft and warm, and pulled his hood back over his head. Only then did he allow the summoning to take hold.

It had been an interesting world, he reflected, as he was pulled between realities, and he had appreciated the reminder of old, cherished memories. As always, he felt that he had done good in that world, no matter what his methods were.

A moment later Harry’s boots hit a shiny floor, and he looked up.

“I am the Master of Death. Who dares summon me?”

**Author's Note:**

> _I aimed for a Harry who was both creepy *and* sympathetic here, so by all means, let me know if that worked... ___


End file.
